Erin Hunter

Into The Wild

We still miss him very much.

And for Benjamin-his brother

who is with him now in StarClan

Special thanks to Kate Cary

PROLOGUE

A half-moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond.

There was a stirring in the shadows, and from all around lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glinted in the moonlight. Wary eyes flashed like amber. And then, as if on a silent signal, the creatures leaped at each other, and suddenly the rocks were alive with wrestling, screeching cats.

At the center of the frenzy of fur and claws, a massive dark tabby pinned a bracken-colored tom to the ground and drew up his head triumphantly. “Oakheart!” the tabby growled. “How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to ThunderClan!”

“After tonight, Tigerclaw, this will be just another RiverClan hunting ground!” the bracken-colored tom spat back.

A warning yowl came from the shore, shrill and anxious. “Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!”

Tigerclaw turned to see sleek wet bodies sliding out of the water below the rocks. The drenched RiverClan warriors bounded silently up the shore and hurled themselves into battle without even stopping to shake the water from their fur.

The dark tabby glared down at Oakheart. “You may swim like otters, but you and your warriors do not belong in this forest!” He drew back his lips and showed his teeth as the cat struggled beneath him.

The desperate scream of a ThunderClan she-cat rose above the clamor. A wiry RiverClan tom had pinned the brown warrior flat on her belly. Now he lunged toward her neck with jaws still dripping from his swim across the river.

Tigerclaw heard the cry and let go of Oakheart. With a mighty leap, he knocked the enemy warrior away from the she-cat. “Quick, Mousefur, run!” he ordered, before turning on the RiverClan tom who had threatened her. Mousefur scrambled to her paws, wincing from a deep gash on her shoulder, and raced away.

Behind her, Tigerclaw spat with rage as the RiverClan tom sliced open his nose. Blood blinded him for an instant, but he lunged forward regardless and sank his teeth into the hind leg of his enemy. The RiverClan cat squealed and struggled free.

“Tigerclaw!” The yowl came from a warrior with a tail as red as fox fur. “This is useless! There are too many RiverClan warriors!”

“No, Redtail. ThunderClan will never be beaten!” Tigerclaw yowled back, leaping to Redtail’s side. “This is our territory!” Blood was welling around his broad black muzzle, and he shook his head impatiently, scattering scarlet drops onto the rocks.

“ThunderClan will honor your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot afford to lose any more of our warriors,” Redtail urged. “Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against these impossible odds. We will have another chance to avenge this defeat.” He met Tigerclaw’s amber-eyed gaze steadily, then reared away and sprang onto a boulder at the edge of the trees.

“Retreat, ThunderClan! Retreat!” he yowled. At once his warriors squirmed and struggled away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, they backed toward Redtail. For a heartbeat, the RiverClan cats looked confused. Was this battle so easily won? Then Oakheart yowled a jubilant cry. As soon as they heard him, the RiverClan warriors raised their voices and joined their deputy in caterwauling their victory.

Redtail looked down at his warriors. With a flick of his tail, he gave the signal and the ThunderClan cats dived down the far side of the Sunningrocks, then disappeared into the trees.

Tigerclaw followed last. He hesitated at the edge of the forest and glanced back at the bloodstained battlefield. His face was grim, his eyes furious slits. Then he leaped after his Clan into the silent forest.

In a deserted clearing, an old gray she-cat sat alone, staring up at the clear night sky. All around her in the shadows she could hear the breathing and stirrings of sleeping cats.

A small tortoiseshell she-cat emerged from a dark corner, her pawsteps quick and soundless.

The gray cat dipped her head in greeting. “How is Mousefur?” she meowed.

“Her wounds are deep, Bluestar,” answered the tortoiseshell, settling herself on the night-cool grass. “But she is young and strong; she will heal quickly.”

“And the others?”

“They will all recover, too.”